Run Away, Little Boy: My Style
by JuJuShel
Summary: With the arrival of an old friend, Tristan follows a different path leading to a different conclusion to the episode. Crossover with Smallville. TRORY
1. Meet the Unsuspecting Protagonist

Introduction: Meet the Unsuspecting Protagonist  
  
Summary: Introduction.kind of what I think has been going on in Tristan's head since "Love, Daisies, and Troubadours." Angsty.but it'll become less so, in later parts. Rating: PG-13 to be safe. Author's Usual Incomprehensible Notes: I'm back. Anyway, notice: This story is going to be from Tristan's perspective. As I am a girl and have no idea as to what goes on inside a guy's head; try not to laugh at my guess. Okay, you can laugh at my complete and total wrongness.just don't tell me about the laughing. Enjoy. (A lack of flames is always appreciated) Spoilers: Well, since this is my own twisted version of "Run Away Little Boy," I suppose there could be allusions to anything up to that point. Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, but maybe someday. My hostile takeover is still in the works. (okay, so it's in the early planning stages in my head, but that counts for something.)  
  
Sadness and frustration had lead to an overwhelming amount of indifference in Tristan DuGrey's life. Six months ago, he'd been well adjusted and goal oriented, if not a happy young man. He had been someone to be admired and respected. Now, as elder Mr. DuGrey would say, "Tristan had aligned himself with misfits who would lead him to nothing except the life of a pathetic miscreant." Gotta love dear old Dad.  
The Tristan of old would have been angered by such a comment, the likes of which had come out of the older, well tailored, Mr. DuGrey's mouth almost twice a day as of late. But the now constant apathy and over exposure to the usual "I'm disappointed in you, Son." speeches would only lead the slouching Tristan to roll his eyes and give a non-committal shrug, waiting for his dad to be done lecturing, while silently (and occasionally very loudly) wondering what his over-bearing father would actually do about his son's lack of motivation.  
How did Tristan arrive at this point? What, or better yet, who could have caused such an apparently tragic change in the once vibrant young man's personality? Two names: Rory Gilmore and Farmer Boy. Them kissing. Oh yeah, and also the stating of the words "I love you" to the ladder by the former largely contributed to Tristan's suffering.  
Of course, Tristan himself should probably be allotted a large part of the blame as well. After all, when he had witnessed the couple's happy scene, he hadn't picked himself up from his fall from a hopeful happy world. Nope, he hadn't said, "Hang in there, DuGrey. There's still tomorrow." As he normally would have when he had trouble winning Rory's affections. Nothing of the sort. He'd just set down her books, buttoned his blue Chilton blazer in an attempt to regain his composure, and proceeded to try and leave Rory Gilmore behind.  
  
But he couldn't.  
  
That stupid now known to be life-changing moment had occurred at the end of his sophomore year. Now, his junior year was well underway and she was still at the forefront of his mind. At first, it had merely been an obsession with figuring out why he had failed to make her love him. But, at some indiscernible point, that mere obsession that had caused him to mope around his mansion, had changed. He wasn't as suave or as enticing as he had thought. Phoey. Why not? And why was that what he needed to be? That question had resonated through his mind a million times. That was the question that had caused him to internally become a void. A void that meant he wasn't good enough for himself or, apparently, for her. He wanted change. He wanted new values, a better life. He wanted her. He had no idea how to achieve any of these though. The one window of light and possible happiness that he could see was Rory. But, considering the fact that this whole soul searching quest had originated because he couldn't win her love, he highly doubted she would give herself over to him anytime soon. He'd already tried everything he could think of during their sophomore year. He didn't think even telling the truth and enlightening her about his new goals for self- improvement would help. He could picture revealing his good intentions and plans to her smiling face. She'd say, "That's great, Tristan." Her eyes would sparkle and her smile would be sincere and Tristan would feel really good for once. Of course, all of that would be tainted by her return to her small town after school so she could spend quality time with her beloved Dean. Tristan hated Dean. He shook his head, not allowing his thoughts to turn to the giant caveman. What was worse, what made Tristan's entire life an ironic joke, was the fact that he was really in love with Rory Gilmore. It had taken him awhile to figure out, but there it was. There was no way to help his floundering situation. He saw her; he saw everything good that he wanted to be a part of. All of which was, of course, unattainable. He hated himself for the fact that he was now associating the pain of his own inadequacies with her. And now for the clincher: Any fleeting thought of having Rory's anger directed at him lead fear of losing what he had left of her to grow, contributing to his new found unwillingness to cause her pain.  
  
Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.  
  
Love stinks.  
  
Next Chapter: The action begins. A not so small friend arrives from a small town to help our hero out of his angst-ridden funk. 


	2. A Not So Small Side Kick Arrives

Not So Small Arrival  
  
Summary: An old friend comes to help Tristan pull himself together. Rating: PG-13 for some swearing. Author's Notes: I would like to remind you of the whole girl writing from a boy's perspective thing. Just don't die from laughing at my lacking interpretations of a guy's head. I hope you enjoy the story, and please don't flame. The rest of the story will be from Tristan's perspective. Spoilers: There really aren't any for Smallville. This is supposed to take place early in the first season, I suppose. Disclaimer: I own nothing.still. Not Gilmore Girls, not Smallville. Rather depressing.  
  
Currently, I am sitting in the windowless room that my happy family commonly refers to as being "The DuGrey Theater." More or less, the name gives away what it is. Except, usually, we don't include the "DuGrey" part of the title. It's unnecessary as the room is already a part of the DuGrey mansion. The room is, as usual, dark with a huge screen, projector, and of course, surround sound all at work. However, this room has taken on a new meaning for me. Let's just say, sometimes I feel like screaming "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" when I enter this room, before I slam the door to my family and life shut.  
The random action movie I had entered the dark room to watch this afternoon was long since over. I'll admit I haven't realized that fact yet. I'm too busy thinking deep important thoughts. Even if I did realize I was blankly staring at an empty projector screen, I wouldn't have left my dark, little, soundproof theater. This room was really the only place I could think. Due to recent events, (None of which I wish to disclose at this time) I wasn't allowed to leave the family grounds. And anywhere outside of this room my father would take all available opportunities to address how I was in some way unsatisfactory as a son, my mom would repeatedly ask me "What's wrong, Honey?" then do nothing more than stare at me with concern no matter what answer I give, (And trust me, She'd asked me enough times that I've been able to try every possible answer, sarcastic or not) and the mansion staff would ask me if I needed anything every 15 minutes. (They were providing me with a new method of telling time: 4 questions about my well being equals I'd been imprisoned in my own home for yet another hour) They were not so discreetly, checking up on me, on what I could safely assume to be my mother's secret orders. Because after all, she was worried about me. My eyes were off the screen long enough to roll in my head at the thought. Stretch those neck muscles.because I'm not moving anything else.  
Ever since the first suspension this cold dark room, which my parents seemed to have forgotten existed, has become my only sanctuary from inquiring and judging eyes. Alas, my sanctuary only protects me for so long. If I remained here for more than 2 hours straight, the staff check ups would resume. God forbid I watch a movie that was 2 and half hours long. I might be interrupted at a crucial plot turning moment, on the off chance that I might need something that I could probably have gotten on my own if I really wanted it. Rather irritating really.  
This was all my mother's doing. I know she's worried about me. (Be proud, I didn't roll my eyes this time) But, I don't know what makes me angrier; the fact that she uses paid help to do her motherly duty of checking up on me, or the fact that it took a suspension from Chilton for her to notice something was wrong. Of course my father was no better. In fact, I'd say that he was even worse. At least my mom doesn't work her hardest to give me low self-esteem.  
I'd have to say the suspensions are really a blessing; this now being my last day of my second forced not-so-fun time off of school. But tomorrow, I'll be back at Chilton, back with the idiots Duncan and Bowman, (It was so their fault that we got caught for the car prank) and I'd be back to seeing her in the halls. It is in this way that the suspensions were blessed vacations. I had hoped they would help me to forget about her. That thought was now laughable. At least I don't have to see Rory while I think about her arguing with Paris, reading during lunch, being practically the only student to pay attention in classes. Obviously, my evil plan to get her out of my head had proven to be totally ineffective. Even with the lack of being at school, I still thought about her doing all those things from the safety of my tiny cave-like sanctuary.  
I knew I had it bad when I started looking at the clock, or just counting the maids asking about my well being, and would wonder what Rory would be doing right then, and I would in no way care about the time in terms of my own sad pathetic existence. Man, this makes me angry. How on Earth did I end up being the one to pine and suffer; while Rory walks around with her head in a stupid snowy white cloud of ignorance? *But, it is a very pretty head.* Ah yes, there came one of my many unbidden Rory- appreciating thoughts. They tended to express themselves about every ten minutes. (No, I hadn't actually sat down to time them) but they couldn't allow me to forget about her for too long because that would be just plain wrong.  
"Man, I need a life." I informed in an almost conversational tone to no one at all; while running my hand through my hair that my father not so lovingly referred to as "the mess that was on top of my cocky little head." Yeah, he actually used the adjectives "cocky" and "little" in reference to my head. Nobody should accuse just a person's head of being cocky. Cockiness should be reserved for the whole person as it took my whole body and all of my soul to work to achieve my current cocky perfection. And if it is necessary to insult a person's head, the term "Doody head" is far more effective than "little head." Doody-head should be used for its many humorous connotations. Come on, thinking about the phrase now makes me want to laugh. But I won't. Hmmm. Although, such an insult is most commonly reserved for those under the age of 7; and possibly for some very intelligent 3-year-olds. It's still a classic. God forbid my father should ever scream the same insult as a 7 year old. That would just be out right embarrassing. I think it's worth a mention that in all actuality my head is on the rather large side.  
"Why don't you start by getting out of this dark room?"  
Eek. I almost jumped off of the couch; my doody-head train of thought completely lost. I realized I knew that voice. I turned around and sure enough there was a bald, nicely dressed man that I occasionally call my friend leaning against the doorframe. He looked as angelic as was possible for him, surrounded by light from the hall behind him. I managed to contain my excitement caused by the sight of him.  
"It's just a suggestion, Tristan. No need to make faces."  
I must have over-compensated in my excitement. Oops. "Well, that would involve moving and I've decided to quit that." I allowed some good humor to enter my voice as I answered his original question. Never say I'm a complete jerk. "Lex Luther. Long time no see, what brings you to Hartford?" I turned away from the figure that remained unmoving in the small theater's doorway. I refocused my gaze on the blank blue theater screen. Hey, when did my random action movie end? Stupid. You see what Rory has unknowingly done to me?  
"I'm on vacation from my exile to the middle of nowhere that my father saw fit to impose on me."  
"So, on vacation and you decided to come to Connecticut? Frankly, I thought you had better taste than that, Lex." I tried to include a joking tone in my comment, but I'll admit I did not really care if Lex managed to pick up on my subtle, rather clumsy, attempt at humor.  
Lex scoffed at me. I think he got my lacking attempt at a joke. "Tristan, you know as well as I do that eventually all the tropic paradises in the world end up as one huge blur of indiscernible blue waters, drinks, and beautiful women. I have a big enough blur in my memory. Besides, I wanted to see my old friend." I listened, not commenting. Lex would say something if there was more to be said. "Your mother managed to track me down in Kansas and called."  
"Ah." I responded knowingly. And there it was, my mother had found yet another person she hoped would voice her concern for me. I just can't believe she'd chosen Lex. It's kinda embarrassing to think Lex had to come all the way to Hartford to talk to me. I wonder if he'll be mad when he finds out my entire depression pretty much boils down to girl problems. I allowed myself to look away from the empty screen and back at Lex who remained framed by light in the theater doorway. "Really? And what did she have to say? All good things I hope." It's fun to play dumb.  
Judging by his face, Lex obviously remembered my playing dumb bit from the old days. "Actually, she's worried about you. Said you're suspended for the second time in a single semester."  
I decided not to respond to the basic stating of the facts. Lex took a casual step or two into the small room, so I could now see him in my peripheral vision without even having to look away from the vast blueness of the screen. Score!  
"You know you're smarter than this."  
I smiled, but I think it probably looked more like a sneer. "Aww, thanks good buddy. Do me a favor; don't start sounding like my father or anything. The one I have is more than irritating enough."  
"Tristan-"  
"I'm establishing rules for this, what is certain to be a manly, heart-to-heart." Sarcasm. Got to love it. I held up my right index finger. "One. No using the word "future"." A second finger came up. "Two. No saying something like "If you need to talk I'm here for you." I don't think I could stand you using such a trite line on me." A third finger was now up. "And three. There will be no asking "What's wrong, Tristan?"" The last part of this was said in a higher-pitched voice that was clearly meant to be an impersonation of my mother. Okay, I'll admit it. I was feeling a bit defensive right then. I mean, my mom had called Lex Luther (THE Lex Luther!) to come half way across the country to talk to me about how I was feeling. Pathetic. Freaking pathetic. If this conversation actually turned to how I was feeling at that moment (God forbid) that would be my answer. No long thought processes required. Pathetic.  
Lex gave a smirk, the closest he usually came to a smile. "Actually, speaking about your future-"  
"I'm surprised. Usually you wait a little longer before you start breaking the rules or at least before you make your rule breaking obvious. But if you were about to say I ruined my future, you came a long way for nothing. I already have my dad to say that to me each morning. Of course, you two could organize a schedule. He could keep saying "I'm screwing myself over" each morning and you could say it at night. Give each other breaks. You know, so you two won't end up as sick of saying it as I am sick of hearing it." I fingered the TV remote. I don't suppose I have to say that I've been feeling pretty angry as of late. I can't believe I let a girl get to me this much. "That way the anti-pep talks will be able to go on for twice as long." A fake smile was most definitely present on my face.  
"Tristan-"  
What can I say; I really didn't feel like hearing anything Lex had to say. "I warn you though, after hearing how I've ruined my future so often, I have quite a few good responses. For example, "Future? What future? You mean the job you would have forced me to take in your firm after I graduate from the college of your choice. Sounds like some future. Makes me glad I screwed it all up." Naturally, that comment would have been directed to my father. But give me a few moments; I'm sure I can think of an adaptation that will be suitable for you." I pressed on the remote so the news came up on the large screen. Yeah sure, I was meaninglessly striking out at one of my best friends. But I'm an angry depressed young man. And what else are friends for? Ha, so there!  
Lex seemed to watch the news for a few moments. I'm sure he was in all actuality doing the same thing as me; namely, collecting his thoughts, preparing to strike, whatnot.  
"Turn off the TV and get up." My anger flared at the command; and the fact that Lex was a much faster thought collector than I was didn't help. I still had a lot of clutter banging around in my head.  
"What?" Great response, huh?  
"I need to get you out of this house, DuGrey." Lex started to leave my sanctuary. I'm not sure I was willing to follow just yet.  
"I'm not allowed to leave." I informed with a mix of depression and ha-I-just-knew-something-the-great-mighty-Lex-Luther-didn't feeling.  
"I spoke with you mom. It's alright." Lex called over his shoulder. He didn't even look back. He knew I'd follow. How irritating. And I would too. I was even getting sick of my only sanctuary. phooey.  
"Okay then." I turned off the TV plummeting the room into darkness. I followed where Lex had gone through the doorway of light; thinking, hoping, the famous Lex Luther would be able to help me out of my recent depression, and maybe even, if I'm lucky, into the heart of Rory Gilmore.  
  
Next Chapter: A Hung Over Return 


	3. A Hung Over Return

A Hung Over Return  
  
Summary: Lex takes the first step to help out Tristan; while Tristan finds himself once again working with Rory. Poor depressed guy, how will he handle the situation? Rating: Still going to play it safe with PG-13. There are some swear words and allusions to drinking. Author's Notes: Yet again, I am a girl trying to write about what goes on in a guy's head. So, remember the great potential for me to get a guy's thoughts all wrong. Oh and drinking is bad. Don't do it. That's a message from a former member of SADD. Tristan is a "bad boy" now and I'm just trying to use good characterization. (And failing miserably, I'm sure.) I hope you enjoy the story. A lack of flames is always appreciated. I'm sorry about the spacing issue. It looks fine double spaced in Microsoft Word. Disclaimer: Still own nothing.  
  
This was great; in its own way. There were no real thoughts left in my head, all images of Rory and feelings of anger and sadness had been forced out by a panicked, paralyzing, fear and the one promise to myself that if I lived through this, I would never allow Lex to drive again. Never. I consider myself to be a fast driver, but compared to Lex's pace I drive like one of those elderly people who always go five to ten miles under the speed limit. I swear Lex will never drive with me in the same car again or, if I can help it, in the same state.  
With my right hand gripping the unusually nice rental car's armrest, I unclenched my teeth enough to loudly question Lex as to where we were going. Teeth re-clenched, I flinched as the sports car's tires squealed and we came to a sudden stop in a dark crowded parking lot. I need a cigarette.  
Lex turned down the radio so it would be possible for him to actually be heard. "So tomorrow you go back to school. Tonight, we party. Get the last of the delinquency out of your system, drink, and eventually you tell me what specifically is bothering you." Lex got out of the car without looking back and began heading for a club that I didn't even know existed after living in Hartford for all of the 17 years of my life. The things Lex Luther knew.  
"Sounds like a plan." I followed my long time friend out of the car and towards the loud club; ready to confess everything about my secret obsession to the one person besides Rory who might actually be able to help me.  
  
~  
  
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I was going back to Chilton and I was hung over. Suckiness compounded. Well, at least I think I managed to surprise Lex, as much as it is possible to ever surprise a Luther, with how much I could put away. I never used to drink. That was yet another recent development; all a part of my great downfall. I'm just glad I didn't cry or do something else embarrassing of the sort when I finally told Lex that all of this stupid stuff I'd been doing was all because of a girl and my pathetic inability to get her out of my head. Lex hadn't actually seemed that disappointed in me or at the fact that a girl had somehow managed to take total control over me. He promised to help me get back to my normal happy, energetic, non-delinquent, cocky self and to even help me win Rory over. Good luck to him, I'd already tried everything I could think of. "How tough could she be?" He had said. I laughed. Very hard. There was lots of the drunk teenager, me, laughing. Eventually I managed to get out that he didn't know Rory, through my side splitting laughing pain. Eventually my laughter did subside and Lex began talking about challenges, Smallville, and some guy named Clark. Then my memory of last night starts to get a bit.well.really fuzzy. I know at some point I said "Lana means wool in Spanish." Don't ask me, I have no idea why I would say that. Suffice to say, it was soon after that that Lex drove me home. A sobering experience. The pounding in my head, my puffy red eyes, and the feeling that at any second I might throw up all over my blazer told me I was back at Chilton and still hung over. Shoot, I don't want to be here. I parked my car crooked, but somehow, still in between the yellow lines. (What more could be expected from a hung over teen returning from suspension? Actual effort? Perfection? I think not.) I did the deep breathing thing and "I will not throw up" was chanted through my head more than just a couple of times. I'd say it was about one hundred times. Feeling pretty certain that my stomach wouldn't do a dreaded flip-flop thing for at least another 30 seconds, I risked exiting my car. The Chilton halls were empty. Class had started a long, long, long, LONG time ago. I mean, it was after lunch. Don't you dare comment! You try being hung over while getting ready for school. I assure you, you wouldn't get far either. Great idea, Lex. "Get the last of the delinquency out of your system," he said. It worked. I will not drink again before the end of time, but sometime between now and the end of time, I would most certainly have to kick Lex at least once for this less than fun experience. I went to the rest of my classes and some how managed not to throw up or enter into a comatose state. Really, I'm rather proud of myself. I even hung out with Duncan and Bowman in the halls. Even through my foggy vision and mottled head, I could tell they're dumb. I need new friends. Then I saw her, talking to Henry. I watched as she went on to talk with Paris, Louise, and Madeline. At least they're getting along, as much as Paris will ever allow anyone to get along with her. Maybe Rory wouldn't hold her you-caused-me-to-lose-the-few-friends-I-had-at- Chilton grudge from the end of last year. Maybe I could actually find out; but that might involve talking with the girl. Risky. I'd rather chew through my own arm right now; less painful, I'm sure. I did the nonchalant thing and continued talking with Idiots 1 and 2. (Take your pick as to which one is which. I personally think they're tied. If only there was some kind of test for these things. Duncan and Bowman could be record holders.) And I swear Rory looked at me. However, I must never discount the possibility that some part of me was being hopeful. (I know, only to be disappointed and suffer later) Stupid hope, always stringing me along making things worse for me in the end. After school, I found reason to be proud of myself again; as I went to meet with all the teachers whose classes I had missed that morning. I didn't miss anything too important, considering I'd already missed loads of class time due to the whole being suspended thing. Except, I did manage to miss something in Shakespeare. We're doing this big group project. It's 50% of our final grades. (Definite ouch potential) Professor Anderson forgot to include me when she was making up the group lists. I'm trying to control my more than slight indignation at that fact. But, at least now I get to pick whatever group I want. Trust me, it was a tough decision. I deeply considered the fact that Summer is in the first group, Beth and Jessica are in Group two, Kate is in three, and a triad of Claire, Cathy, and Mary are in Group four. All are a part of my extensive line of ex-girlfriends. All are people I don't want to see and don't want to be seen by. I think the feeling is mutual. So, that left me with one group. Amazingly, it contains no ex-girlfriends, but it does contain Paris, who may very well hold some homicidal tendencies towards me. (But hey, no biggie, Paris holds homicidal tendencies towards anything that is capable of movement) And there is no way I could forget; the lovely Rory Gilmore is also a part of Group 5. This fact is causing an invisible tare to form down my middle. I really want to see her and speak/bicker with her again, but part of me thinks I'm not ready for such a stressing, fun, and strenuous activity yet. I'll talk to Lex about this huge possibly world ending crisis tonight. His opinions on such issues are typically very useful. But how to ask him and remain a confident burly man? This could qualify as a crisis all on its own. Deep in thought with a backpack filled with homework, I trekked out of the more or less now empty school.  
  
~  
  
Hard to believe, but I am yet again proud of myself, that makes like 3 times today. I managed to not think about talking to Lex, the inevitable time I'm going to have to spend with Shakespeare group 5, or Rory, for a whole 4 hours. I couldn't think about them. Although, I would have preferred to. Schoolwork that requires all of my concentration for extended periods of time gets real old real fast. I couldn't even watch The Simpsons. Teachers have no respect for students' needs. But that was all in the past. Thoughts of how to ask Lex about a proper course of action in relation to Rory were unavoidable now, I was sitting across from Lex in a Starbucks. He was lamenting the fact that his prison/small town didn't have one. "How primitive." I managed. Lex smiled before sipping from his cardboard cup. Then he asked it. "How was your first day back?" Ah yes, the perfect lead into asking about Rory. But first, a segway involving a bone to be picked needed to be addressed. "There was a rather rough start considering I was hung over." I formed my face to clearly express that I held Lex responsible for my first-day-back-suffering. In Luther style, Lex brushed aside my silent accusation. "How was Rory?" Ohhh, he hit right at the heart of it all. Leave it to Lex to be brutal and direct. Leave it to me to be pathetic and love sick. "Fine, I suppose. I only saw her from a distance, but I swear she looked at me." "Hmmm," Lex's response clearly contained the words "you-are-a-sad-big-eyed- puppy-dog-of-a-sick-little-boy-who-needs-all-the-psychriatric-help-good- money-can-buy." If Lex could ignore blatant accusations, so could I. "Actually, I'm probably going to have to be in a group project with her for our Shakespeare class. "That's good. You'll be able to re-establish contact." Lex once again lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. It was my turn to give the loaded "hmmm," and it wasn't given just because Lex had actually used the words "re-establish" and "contact." Don't get me wrong I want to see Rory. I mean, I want to do a lot more than see her. But, there's this huge I-actually-want-her-to-like-me-this- time-around factor that needed to be dealt with. In the past, "contact" (Lex's word not mine) with Rory had majorly "screwed" (My word not Lex's) with my head. I liked that. Partially, that led to the whole falling in love with her happy, fuzzy feeling. But my screwed head also tended to piss her off. That was a problem that lead to bitter anger. Not as much fun. Wait a minute. I am Tristan DuGrey. I'm usually an intelligent guy; I've had tons of girlfriends, 7 of them in 2 of Chilton's Shakespeare classes alone. I could handle a girl. Granted, Rory was a special girl, but it's been a while since we've spoken. Who knows, I could have matured or something. I avoided saying any of this out loud. I didn't want to make a spectacle of Lex laughing at me. Soon after my realization, I finished my coffee and returned home to continue the long journey involving challenging homework and mentally preparing for, the more than somewhat dramatic experience, of seeing and speaking with Rory Gilmore.  
  
Next Chapter: Encounter the Love Interest 


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